


stripped down to our skeletons again

by sinistercacophony



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Aaron's Trial, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Post-Canon, Sibling Bonding, Vomiting, badly done, heart to hearts but like, like not a little bit thats mostly what the fic is about just a warning, not graphic tho, they're trying really hard guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:28:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinistercacophony/pseuds/sinistercacophony
Summary: What should he even fucking do?“You look like shit.”A+ Aaron. Stunning observation. You’re gonna win next year’s socialization tournament hands down.
Relationships: Aaron Minyard & Andrew Minyard
Comments: 17
Kudos: 200





	stripped down to our skeletons again

**Author's Note:**

> honestly idk if this is even that good but i'm tired of looking at it so here you go. 
> 
> cw: andrew kinda throws up a bit but its not like, graphically described he is just having a Bad Time 
> 
> title is from twin skeletons by fallout boy, a very twinyards kind of track

Aaron feels vaguely shell shocked as he walks out of the courtroom. The jury still needs to deliberate, but after Andrew’s testimony — after seeing the disgusted and uncomfortable looks on the jury’s faces as Andrew flatly and dispassionately laid out his entire horrific backstory for the whole room to hear — he’d be really fucking surprised if they came back with anything other than not guilty. Still, there’s a sick feeling in his gut, and that familiar jitteriness he always feels when he gets stressed enough that the desire to fall back on old coping mechanisms rears its ugly fucking head. 

_What if it’s not enough,_ something dark whispers, _what if he said all that for you and it wasn’t even worth it?_ Aaron doesn’t know what kind of deal Andrew would classify this as. If Andrew still thinks that he needs to pay Aaron back for killing Drake. Protection, or obligation? Is Aaron still family, in Andrew’s mind? 

When Waterhouse had asked Andrew what he was going to say when he got up on the witness stand, Andrew had said nothing, simply leveling them with a blank stare and dead fucking silence. Eventually Aaron had broken in the face of it, annoyance and frustration at Andrew’s constant cryptic bullshit winning out, and he’d bit out, “Really, Andrew?” with all the bitterness he could muster. 

That, at least, had gotten Andrew to react. He’d turned towards Aaron, and Aaron had seen a flash of — something — he thinks. There and then gone. Something like fear. And Andrew had said, “I will only say it once,” as absolute as he always was. 

Aaron thinks for once he might have heard what Andrew wasn’t saying. 

_I can only say it once. I can’t do it twice. Once is already too many._

But Andrew had looked as unflappable as he always did, up there on the stand. It made Aaron want to scream with frustration, at the unfairness of it. That Andrew could sit there and detail these horrors and look like it didn’t mean anything while Aaron sat on the sidelines and did jack shit, once again. _I don’t want you to suffer for me,_ Aaron thinks, _I just want you to fucking care._

Aaron immediately makes a bee-line towards the water fountain the moment he gets clear of the doors. The water tastes like pennies, but it’s reasonably cold and that’s all Aaron really cares about. His suit is cloyingly hot, and Aaron is reasonably certain that if he took off the jacket he’d have some unattractive pit stains on his button up. He spares the public and leaves his jacket on, resorting to panting like a dog in between gulps of water. He lets himself just gasp over the water fountain for a moment. It feels like the first breath of air he’s had in hours. 

The sensation of a warm palm landing on his waist is startling, but the vanilla-cherry scent of Katelyn’s perfume immediately relaxes him before any more adrenaline can hit. He stands up straight quickly enough his vision goes a little fuzzy but it doesn’t matter because he immediately buries his face into Katelyn’s chest, breathing in her scent, allowing the scrape of her nails through his hair to comfort him. 

They just stand there, for several long minutes. Katelyn doesn’t say anything. During Andrew’s testimony she’d held Aaron’s hand, her face pale but determined, her knuckles bone white in Aaron’s clenched fist. He can’t see her face now but her breathing is a little shuddery and her heart is beating against his ear, fluttery and panicked in a way the gentle fingers on his head didn’t belie. 

Aaron isn’t sure how much time passes before they part, but it’s long enough that Katelyn’s heart has slowed and his own breaths have stopped coming in short panicked bursts. 

He looks up into her face. Despite the stress of the whole trial, her eyes are dry and her expression is exhausted but firm. He’s glad she’d managed to convince her roommate to let them borrow her car for the day. Aaron isn’t sure he’d be able to do this without Katelyn but the idea of putting Andrew and Katelyn in a car together had made him incredibly fucking nervous. Andrew had made good on his promise to ignore Katelyn but neither of them wanted to push that any farther than they had to. 

Her voice is a little raspy as she says, “You okay, baby?” 

Aaron lets out a dry laugh. It scrapes out of his throat like cotton on thorns. “Yeah, not really.” 

She makes a sympathetic noise but doesn’t look surprised. 

“My mouth feels like a wasteland. I’m fucking dying of dehydration,” he adds, the water from the fountain feels like it’s made it worse, honestly. It’s the least of his problems but probably the only one he can feasibly currently solve. 

She lets out a little laugh. “There’s vending machines over in the other hallway, if you wanna grab some bottled water.” 

He pulls back from her a little bit, lets his hands smooth over the curves of her waist, his eyes sliding over the firm curve of her biceps as she pulls her hands out of his hair. Physically parting from her feels almost painful, and he lets out a sigh as he regretfully steps back. She gives him a soft smile. 

“I would go over there with you but I’m pretty sure I saw Andrew go that way and— yeah,” she finishes awkwardly. 

That’s fine. Aaron can survive without his girlfriend for the five minutes it will take him to get water from a vending machine. He ignores the thread of anxiety that sparkes through him at the thought and steps doggedly away from Katelyn and the wall they’d been up against. 

Luckily, the vending machines are easily found, unluckily, Neil Josten is there, standing in front of the snack machine and staring at it like he’s looking for answers and is displeased with the ones he’s found. 

Aaron doesn’t bother to say anything to him, just swipes his card through the slot and stabs at the button for bottled water harder than is probably necessary. He doesn’t look at Josten, just waits for the mechanical rumbling of the machine to cease before crouching to get his drink. 

Josten, apparently, is not happy with this status quo because he says, “Could you get me one too?” 

Aaron stands and gives Josten one of his fiercest glares. Josten looks unperturbed, probably because Andrew looks much angrier at him on the daily, but Josten’s chilly blue eyes and the sarcastic twist of his mouth still make Aaron want to shake him. 

“I’ll pay you back,” Josten adds. Aaron isn’t sure whether to be offended or not over the implication that Aaron would be petty enough to make Josten pay him back a whole two fucking dollars for a bottle of fucking water. On one hand, honestly Aaron might be, but on the other, fuck you Josten, it’s two fucking dollars. 

“Whatever,” Aaron says as shortly as he can and swipes his card again. He shoves the water at Josten and moves to walk away but then curiosity gets the better of him. He glances around, “Where’d Andrew go?” 

And suddenly Neil doesn’t look quite so smoothed over as he had before. There’s a flash of a frown across his face as he mutters shortly, “Bathroom.” 

If Aaron remembers correctly he’d seen Andrew head straight for the bathroom the moment they’d gotten out. Aaron checks his watch. It’s been nearly half an hour. Unless Andrew is taking the world’s longest shit it seems unlikely he’d still be in there. And Josten looks — worried — actually. 

Fine. Aaron thinks. I’ll bite. “What’s he even doing in there that’s taking so fucking long?” _Is he okay?_ Aaron doesn’t ask. Aaron isn’t sure what the answer would be. Doesn’t know how he’d feel about either option. 

Josten looks conflicted for a moment, biting his lip and glancing up and away. Whatever decision he’s trying to make he obviously makes it, nodding to himself. He shoves the water that Aaron had _just_ fucking handed him back into Aaron’s arms and takes a couple steps back. 

“Maybe you should go check on him then.” 

Aaron gives Josten a double take. “Seriously?” 

Josten nods, “Seriously.” 

Aaron regards him suspiciously. He still doesn’t fucking like Josten, and he knows for a fact that Josten doesn’t like him, but for some stupid reason Josten always seems really fucking interested in getting Aaron and Andrew to get along. It’s weird, and the look on Josten’s face right now is the one he always gets when he’s being a manipulative little shit. 

“Why.” 

Neil grimaces, “Just fucking go. It’ll be good for both of you. Probably.”

Incredibly reassuring. Aaron gives up on getting any more information from Josten and makes his way to the men’s bathroom. Maybe Andrew is just like, staring into a mirror and contemplating death or something. That seems like something he’d do. Possibly. Aaron has no fucking clue what goes through Andrew’s head the majority of the time. 

As he walks into the bathroom, he squints his eyes at the onslaught of bright fluorescent light. He glances down the row of stalls; the entire room currently looks empty. No one in sight, especially not his wayward brother. 

But then he hears a rattling cough echoing from down at the far end of the room. 

It’s followed by a series of increasingly gross gagging noises, and Aaron nearly turns and walks right out of the fucking bathroom. He’d been exposed to enough of Andrew getting violently ill while he was on his meds, and while Aaron has in no way a weak stomach, dealing with Andrew while he was feeling nauseous was probably one of Aaron’s least favorite things to do. 

But then Aaron remembers the way Josten had shoved the water into his hands with that weird anxious look on his face. _He knew_ Aaron realizes, _And for some fucking reason he thought I would be the best person to send in. What the fuck, Josten._

He gathers his courage and walks to the end of the row of stalls. Andrew is in the very last one. He hadn’t even gotten the door closed, and it’s hanging open wide enough that it only partially obscures Andrew’s tense form hunched over the toilet. 

Clearly Andrew is aware enough of his surroundings to hear Aaron coming, because as Aaron pauses in front of the stall Andrew raises his head and turns it just enough to ascertain who’s behind him. At the sight of Aaron he lets out a quiet groan and turns away. 

Aaron should leave. Aaron shouldn’t be seeing this. Andrew hates being vulnerable and he especially hates being vulnerable in front of people he doesn't trust and Aaron had left that camp years ago. 

But Andrew doesn’t tell him to leave, so instead Aaron eases himself down onto the floor, sitting cross-legged directly outside of the open stall door. 

What should he even fucking do? 

“You look like shit.” 

A+ Aaron. Stunning observation. You’re gonna win next year’s socialization tournament hands down. 

Andrew does look like shit though. Far from the flat composed affect he’d had on the witness stand, here he’s crumpled over the toilet, shoulders tense and one hand clenched and shaking where it’s braced against the ground, supporting the majority of Andrew’s weight while he clings to the rim like it’s a lifeline. He’s pulled his tie loose and crumpled on the ground next to the toilet and his jacket is nowhere in sight. 

He’s well enough to muster a glare back at Aaron for the comment though. His eyes are watery, but it looks more like a side effect of being sick than actual tears. Aaron isn’t sure Andrew is even capable of crying at this point. 

“Fuck you,” Andrew croaks. His voice rasps out of his throat, raw and painful sounding. 

It sounds like it hurts. A lot. 

“How long have you been in here?” 

Another groan, “Guess.” 

“Do you even have anything left in your stomach to puke?” 

“Don’t you have anything fucking better to do?” 

No. Well. Actually probably yes. But Andrew has just thrown himself in front of a metaphorical bullet for Aaron and the idea of just — leaving him here — feels wrong, somehow. 

“I brought you water.” There, a peace offering. 

“I’ll just throw it up,” Andrew sounds very certain as he says it. Given that he’d managed to spend an entire half hour puking Aaron doesn’t doubt it. 

“Then at least you’ll be throwing up water instead of stomach acid, asshole. Just fucking drink it.” 

Aarons bedside (toilet side?) manners were probably gonna need work if he was ever going to be a proper doctor but he knows for a fact that Andrew responds far better to callousness than he does to pity. 

This gets Andrew to pull away from where he’s slumped over, leaning himself back against the wall. It gives Aaron a much better view of his face, at least, and the exhausted look in his eyes. Aaron tosses the water bottle at him. 

“Drink.” 

Andrew cracks the top off with a mutinous look and downs half the bottle without breaking eye contact. 

He doesn’t even rinse his mouth. Fucking gross. 

Aaron feels himself making a face and Andrew clearly notices it because he looks vaguely smug under his bedragglement. 

They lapse into silence. 

Aaron can’t think of anything to say. Andrew is clenching and unclenching his fists, his face traveling through more expressions than Aaron has seen him make in a while. Mostly unpleasant ones, but still. 

Aaron feels abruptly guilty, for resenting Andrew’s stone cold apathy on the stand. It’s clearly not as easy as Andrew had made it seem, if this is the consequence. 

“Are you gonna be able to go back?” Fuck. And now Aaron’s making it about him again, because that’s all he can ever fucking do. 

Andrew sends him a dry look and doesn’t deign to respond. His hands are still shaking. “I am fine.” 

Aaron snorts, “Okay, so now you’ve clearly been hanging out with Josten too much.” 

This gets a glare, at least, and a clarification, “I will be fine.” 

They lapse into silence again. Andrew is still shaking hard, his right hand gripping the opposite black clad forearm so hard his knuckles are going white.

And Andrew is controlling and shitty and violent and generally just really fucking mean but Aaron is working really hard on this emotional honesty bullshit so he sucks it up and says, “Thank you.” 

Andrew looks— surprised. The brief shock on his face is almost immediately wiped off though, and he turns abruptly to start vomiting again. Aaron tries not to feel personally offended. 

He fiddles with his phone while he waits for Andrew to be done with— that. Katelyn has texted him. Apparently Josten told her where he is. 

_neil said you went to talk to andrew. take care of yourself. i love you_

Seeing it eases something in Aaron’s chest. Katelyn was still terrified of Andrew, and Aaron couldn’t resent her for it. What was he supposed to say? _Sorry my psycho brother called you a tumor, but really now that he’s threatened you once it’s all chill don’t even worry about it._ Yeah right. That wouldn’t be fair to Katelyn, and Aaron could be a top tier asshole but he wasn’t about to pretend that the relationship between his brother and his girlfriend was in any way salvageable. 

But despite that, Aaron still can’t get himself to let go of Andrew. Honestly now that they're in different dorms, he'd fully be within his rights to never speak to Andrew again outside of practices, but he still goes to Columbia on the weekends and gets trashed with Kevin and Nicky, and he still goes and hangs out and plays increasingly violent video games while Josten does his math homework or whatever. Aaron doesn’t know. Maybe there’s something about killing a dude for someone that makes it seem — important — to stay close. 

Aaron thinks about Mom and represses a flinch. He tries not to think about how that mindset might apply to Andrew too. 

He shoots Katelyn a quick text before he puts his phone back in his pocket. 

_doing alright. see you soon._

Andrew seems to be done with this round of sickness because he slumps back again, breathing harshly in the echoey silence of the bathroom. He downs the rest of the water bottle, grimacing as he swallows, one hand reaching up to feel at the base of his throat, like he’s afraid he’ll find it torn to shreds. 

Aaron is still holding his own water bottle, he realizes, he hadn’t even thought to drink it. 

Andrew’s voice is considerably more wrecked than it was previously when he says, “Are you here for any particular reason or is this just a fun spectator sport now?” 

Aaron can’t help biting back, “Yes because clearly my only life goal is to see you miserable.” 

It echoes uncomfortably off the walls, ringing more true than Aaron was expecting it would. There was a deep, selfish part of Aaron, a part of Aaron that existed in high school — mad at Andrew for scaring off his girlfriends and making him a social pariah — that had always wanted to see Andrew laid low, see his precious control break into little smithereens. After the medication, after Drake, that desire bubbled and bled in his gut, melting his stomach lining until all he could feel was broken tattered guilt. 

Nobody deserved to have their control stripped away like that, and Aaron felt cruel for ever having wished for it. But it was there, and he’d thought it, and he suspected deep down, that Andrew had always known how much Aaron resented him. Seemed to expect it even. Aaron isn't sure there had ever been a point in Andrew’s life where he’d had any expectations for anybody that weren’t cruelty or betrayal.

Andrew seemed to be thinking along the same lines, “Careful, Aaron, you might accidentally become self aware.” 

“Fuck you asshole. I’m plenty self aware.” Aaron has been going to like— actual therapy. Dobson had said she couldn’t take Aaron on outside of his and Andrew’s joint sessions because it was a conflict of interest, but had recommended another therapist that worked on the university medical staff. It had been a good call. Aaron found it far easier to talk to somebody who didn’t know Andrew directly, to untangle the mess of needs and wants and fears that was his relationship with his brother. 

Aaron doesn’t want to give up on this. He could. It would be easy. Andrew would let him. Aaron is coming to realize that Andrew has absolutely no expectations that anyone in his life is planning on sticking around. It's why he’d clung to his deal with Aaron so tightly. Why he made all his deals, probably. If Andrew didn’t have something to give to someone, there was no reason for them to give back. So he gave and he gave and he gave and he seemed to hate every moment of it but he kept doing it anyway. 

Aaron can understand that. Mom had been— she’d been a drunk and an addict and she’d hit and screamed and clawed at him. Once during a particularly rough argument she’d grabbed his hand and had bitten him when he’d raised it to — he doesn’t remember. Try to calm her? Ward her off? It had left bloody indents in his palm, and even as jaded as Aaron had been by that point he’d sobbed the entire night, huddled under his covers in as tight a ball as he could be. But still part of him always thought — what if I’m just not good enough. What if I try harder, give more of myself up. Make myself better or smarter or nicer and she’ll finally see me and she’ll finally _care_ and then I can be happy again. 

It had never happened. Andrew had made sure it never would. The place where resentment used to be for Mom’s death feels hollow now, echoey and full of dust. Aaron isn’t sure he'll ever be able to feel grateful. As twisted as it was he’d loved her. He remembers the way she’d tucked him into bed when he was small, stroking his hair and murmuring lullabies in a rough unpolished voice that Aaron had thought was beautiful, at the time. 

He hated her too. He hated her so much. And he still hates her and he still loves her and doesn’t know what to _do_ with that. Doesn’t know how to make Andrew see that his grief is not a product of ungratefulness. That when someone breaks you over and over again you feel bound to them in some crystalline fragile way, sharp and easily shattered. That he can be sad she’s gone and glad she can never hurt him again at the same time. 

Andrew’s breathing has started to even out somewhat— chest rising up and down deeply, clearly holding some sort of pattern, probably something Dobson had taught him. 

Aaron finally confesses, “If you really wanna know, your stupid fucking boyfriend sent me. God knows why.” 

Andrew makes a sound that might have almost been a laugh, “Typical.” He doesn’t deny that Josten’s his boyfriend, Aaron notes. Honestly Aaron is under the impression that they mostly didn’t do the whole ‘labels’ thing, but Andrew has started to acquiesce without protest when people refer to his relationship with Neil in blunt terms.

It’s funny, that Josten hates Aaron so much, but cares about Andrew enough that he tries to help anyway. Like if he shoves them in rooms often enough they’ll suddenly stumble upon healthy communication methods.

Maybe that’s what makes Aaron say what he says next. 

“Me and Katelyn are gonna get married. After graduation.” 

Andrew’s face barely moves, “I don’t care.” 

Aaron lets the silence sit for a moment, “I want you to come.” 

He really really does. He’d talked to Katelyn about it and she’d been— apprehensive but supportive. As terrifying as he was, Andrew hadn’t really done much more than scare the shit out of her. And maybe Aaron is a little fucked, that after all this time he’s still trying to scrape together the tattered shreds of this relationship, but he doesn’t care. Aaron is getting better. _Andrew_ is getting better, scraping himself out of depressive apathy week after week to do nothing more complicated than continue to live. 

Aaron is no longer an angry teen, floating on grief and addiction and raw hate. Somewhere in the past couple of months, in the buildup to the trial, he’s started to see that the things that made Andrew seem so immutable, untouchable, hurt Andrew just as much as they hurt everyone around him. 

Andrew reaches out his hand for Aaron, “Give me your water.” 

Oh. Aaron’s still holding it. He tosses it to Andrew, who uncaps it just as aggressively as he did the previous bottle. This time he actually rinses his mouth though, spitting water into the toilet and grimacing at the taste. He flushes the toilet before looking at Aaron, his face already beginning to flatten back into apathy. The shake in his hands is stilling. 

Aaron stands, and in a bout of hubris, offers a hand up to his brother. 

Andrew eyes it for a moment, and Aaron is so sure that he is going to be ignored, that Andrew will stand on his own and walk away and this whole stilted conversation will recede into the ranks of all the other stilted conversations they’ve had over the years. 

Andrew reaches out his hand. They grip each other’s forearms as Aaron pulls Andrew to his feet. They let go. 

It’s so brief, but Aaron cannot remember a time in the last four years that Andrew has allowed Aaron to touch him. 

Andrew stalks down the row of toilets towards the sinks, leaving the litter of his tie and his first empty water bottle on the floor of the stall. Aaron picks them up, puts the tie in his pocket, dumps the bottle in the trash as he follows Andrew. 

He leans against the wall as Andrew washes his hands, rinses his mouth out again. Straightens his shirt and runs a hand through his hair until he looks as unruffled and uncaring as he had sitting in the courtroom forty five minutes ago. 

He makes eye contact with Aaron through the mirror. 

“I’ll go. And you’re welcome.” 

When they get back to the courtroom Aaron Minyard is charged not guilty, and becomes a free man.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated! 
> 
> if you wanna chat you can check out my tumblr at sinistercacophony


End file.
